


Kink Meme Fills, etc. Part Two.

by falsteloj



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Class Differences, Cultural Differences, Declarations Of Love, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarves, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hobbits, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsteloj/pseuds/falsteloj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbit one shots based on kink meme prompts. For more info on individual stories please see the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/613514/chapters/26680509">Chapter Index</a>.</p><p>(Fics are mostly Bilbo/Bofur, plus 3x Dwalin/Ori at chapters #4, #8 and #11.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: Ive read this amazing Bofur/Kili arranged marriage fic, in which there is a scene where Fili tells Kili lies about what is going to happen during the wedding night and Kili believes him for a second and is terrified.  
> It was a "hello kink I didn't know I have!" moment for me. Basically, I just want a Dwarf who is completely oblivious and naive when it comes to sex (Kili or Ori but Bilbo works too) getting marred - preferably arranged marriage to emphasise the duty of the deed - and is freaking out because he was told lies (Kili by Fili? Ori by Kili? Bilbo by Shirefolk?) about what's going to happen and he imagines blood, pain, some in humane activities and god knows what else. However, he knows he needs to see it through (duty, honour etc) so when the moment comes, though he is weeping in fear on the inside, he is ~brave~ about it. Just give me massive anxiety and misunderstanding and The Husband being caring and understanding and thinking it's just nerves and maybe wanting to stop and Kili or Ori freaking out because "NO! We cannot stop (because then the marriage will be null and void) and you have to continue!" and IDEK. Preferred pairing Bofur/Kili or if author wishes: Bofur/Bilbo, Dwalin/Ori, Bofur/Ori, Fili/Ori, THORIN/ORI (how is that not a thing????) RandomArrangedMarriageDwarfLikeDain/Kili or Ori
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5433665#t5433665 ]
> 
> With added rimming for nix_xon. :3

"It's very brave of you to go through with this," Kíli said, and his smile was so full of mischief that Bilbo determined to ignore him.

"T'is true," Fíli added, in support of his brother. "There aren't many who would consent to have a dwarf as a husband."

Bilbo huffed and tried to concentrate on the knife in his hand, though he had no idea what it was he was making. To the brothers he said, "I am old enough to make my own decisions." He meant the statement to sting.

Kíli simply chuckled, while Fíli clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm sure Bofur will go easy on you!"

Bilbo watched them go from the corner of his eye, then laid his carving down with a sigh. In truth his nerves were all a-jangle, and he wished that the others wouldn't taunt him so.

For it had seemed the obvious thing to do when the ultimatum was given. Bofur was not of the royal line, and would not be granted passage unless he could prove he was in a marriage he had consumated; Bifur had been given dispensation, on account of his injuries, and Bombur already had proof fourteen times over.

Bilbo had been the one to suggest it, quietly, because though they had done nothing more than exchange kisses, he was sure enough of his heart to go through with it, if Bofur did not find the idea too arduous.

Bofur had asked him over and again if he was certain and, once convinced, he had kissed him soundly, and promised that he would not regret the decision, and that he had made Bofur the happiest dwarf in the whole of Middle Earth.

He had been the happiest hobbit. At least until Master Balin came to speak with him, to explain certain customs, and how though it had to be he who was taken this first time, there were no fast rules governing the times thereafter. When he left, Bilbo stared at the oil he had left behind with something approaching panic, for he had never before heard of such things, and even now did not truly believe they were possible.

It was not done in the Shire, he was sure of it. It was not spoken of, even, and though his father had given him a talk on lasses and babies, there had been no mention of the things which two menfolk might do to each other.

He lay awake all that night, worried, and though Gloin told him kindly that he could talk through any worries with him, Bilbo couldn't. The dwarves could see nothing unusual in their being joined, and joked of the acts which were to follow as though they were commonplace. Bilbo did not want them to think poorly of the Shire, when already they laughed at it, and called its customs quaint and simple.

The hand fastening ceremony seemed shadowed by the knowledge of what was to come, though Bofur beamed at him throughout, and afterwards kissed his cheek so tenderly that Bilbo half convinced himself that the others were only playing an elaborate prank on him.

Nori and Dwalin dispelled this idea, all jovial smiles, when they came to congratulate him.

"Not long to go now, Master Burglar," Dwalin smirked at him, and Nori seemed quite unable to keep a straight face as he said,

"Compared to your own kind I'm sure you'll find no cause for complaint with our friend Bofur."

Bilbo flushed, and scowled, and endured similar comments from the rest of the Company, including Kíli and Fíli, until the appointed time came, and dread settled in the pit of his stomach even as he bathed and dragged a comb through his unruly hair. Bofur was waiting for him when he was done, his own braids still damp.

"I wish that I had words," Bofur told him, breathless, "to tell you how lovely you are."

Bilbo blushed, not knowing what to say in response, and let Bofur kiss him. It was nothing more than they had done before and he began to respond with eagerness, gasping at the sensation of heat and whiskers against the skin of his throat, when Bofur dropped his head to lay kisses there.

It was not going to be enough to trade kisses this night though, and Bilbo turned away when he was relieved of the tunic he was wearing. He felt embarrassed, foolish, and wished he had spoken while there had still remained time to find another option. They would not have held it against him, he thought, if he had explained that hobbits were simply brought up differently. Built differently.

Now it was too late and, though Bilbo tried to relax, he lay there tense and unresponsive, eyes clenched tight shut as Bofur stroked at his arm, attempting to coax some of his former enthusiasm from him.

"You don't need to go through with this," Bofur told him at last, sitting so as to put some distance between them. "Not now, not ever. No one shall question your decision."

Bilbo's heart ached at that, for it wasn't Bofur's fault, this situation, and this one act aside to be joined with Bofur was a wish he had held dear for almost as long as he and the dwarf had known each other.

"I want to," Bilbo said at last, determined, and when Bofur made no attempt to reach for him he added, quietly, "I am just lacking in experience."

Bofur's expression softened still further, and he kissed Bilbo carefully and told him he had nothing to be frightened of. Bilbo did as he was bid when Bofur's hands urged him to turn over, though his muscles tensed and he gritted his teeth as he heard Bofur unstopper the little bottle of oil, for it was bound to hurt and he desperately wanted for it all to be over.

He was shocked then when, instead of anything more intimate, Bofur laid his slickened hands on Bilbo's shoulders, working loose the tension. Bilbo couldn't keep back the appreciative noises as talented fingers worked across his back, and down his arms, and he felt himself relaxing, quite in spite of himself.

By the time Bofur's hands trailed down his legs Bilbo felt a tension of a different kind, and squirmed, helpless, when Bofur lowered his head to press kisses to the backs of his thighs, the added sensation of his whiskers and the tips of his braids trailing against his skin making Bilbo tremble.

"You're so precious," Bofur was saying in between kisses. "You've no idea what you do to me."

Bilbo had some idea, he thought, his own cock pressed tight as it was against the sheets beneath him. He was so busy thinking of it, and of the way his skin seemed to be all over tingling, that he did not realise Bofur's intentions at first. He simply squirmed as Bofur kneaded the flesh of his behind, lips following the path of his fingers.

He jumped at the first touch of heated tongue, shocked beyond measure.

"Did I hurt you?" Bofur asked, earnest, though his voice was so low as to be almost unrecognisable. Bilbo shook his head, and because his own want was burning through his veins like fire he managed to say,

"It was - I - Don't stop. _Please_ , Bofur."

Bofur did not need to be told twice, and Bilbo curled his fingers tight in the sheets, not caring how much noise he was making as he gasped and whimpered, pressing back into the teasing flicks of Bofur's tongue until, finally, Bofur took hold of his hips and pressed his tongue inside, short shallow thrusts that had Bilbo begging.

He shouldn't want it, he thought dimly. It wasn't right, it couldn't be.

But then Bofur was pressing a finger into him, and another, tongue flickering around them so that Bilbo couldn't stop shaking, couldn't keep from wrapping a hand around himself and rocking, first into his touch, and then back against Bofur. Bofur crooked his fingers then, pressed them against some spot inside which made him keen and writhe, and struggle to think of his own name.

He whined when Bofur pulled his fingers free, but then he was being urged to lay on his back, and the sight of Bofur stole his breath from him. The dwarf's gaze was dark, darker than Bilbo had ever seen, and his skin was flushed a mottled red, even as he whispered,

"If you want to stop, we will."

Bilbo responded by pulling Bofur closer, fascinated by the dark sweep of eyelashes against his cheek, and the way he gasped, sounding half pained, when his heated flesh made contact with the skin of Bilbo's hip.

Perhaps he would feel strange later; guilty or disgusted. In that moment Bilbo couldn't think of anything but having Bofur still closer, shuddering when Bofur caught his meaning and slicked himself, before pressing into him.

It felt different to the fingers, though it did not hurt, and when the worst of it passed Bilbo clutched at Bofur's arms, feeling muscles pulled taut with the strain of bracing himself, and then curled his fingers into messy braid, loosening them still further.

Bofur's breathing swiftly grew as erratic as his rhythm, and Bilbo pushed into his own fist at the sight of the pained pleasure across Bofur's face, losing control when Bofur struck the same place inside of him three times over, and spilled over his hand. Bofur followed scarcely moments behind, and Bilbo shivered when the dwarf moved, so as not to crush him, entirely unused to the sensation.

His limbs felt weak and useless in the aftermath, so he watched as Bofur cleaned them up and rescued the blankets from the floor before putting out the candles. Bilbo's cheeks flamed now that his sense of propriety was returning, and he wondered if he had been too forward, or too shameless, for he had heard rumours of such things back home - though the tales had never involved two husbands, nor a dwarf for that matter.

Bofur didn't seem to treat him any differently when he came to lay beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his hairline and wrapping his arms about him.

"I was afraid," Bilbo said into the darkness when Bofur pulled the blankets up around them, hoping that the confession might provide an explanation for his behaviour. He did not know what answer he was expecting, but it was not,

"Aye, me too."

Bilbo frowned in puzzlement, and Bofur found his hand, entwining their fingers.

"I was afraid I might hurt you. Afraid that I wouldn't be able to please you. Afraid that you would come to your senses, and decide that you could do ever so much better than this old fool."

"We are both fools then," Bilbo laughed, heart lighter than it had been for many days, and curled close in the dwarf's embrace. Bofur laughed along with him, merry as Bilbo had ever heard him, and spoke for both of them when he said, 

"And may we always remain so."

Bilbo nodded his agreement and fell into sleep with a smile on his face. He was a fool, perhaps, but at least he was a lucky fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	2. Bofur grieves for Bombur.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: So you all know how in the 1977 animated Hobbit film, Bombur gets killed? I love Bombur, but let's movie-i-fy that. Bombur is killed during the BoFA, and Bofur is absolutely inconsolable with grief. A fic dealing with Bofur finding his little brother's body, dealing with the aftermath, etc., would be fantastically heartbreaking. Basically I just want a lot of crying and grieving Bofur. Bonus points for Bifur not really understanding what's happening, but trying to console Bofur as much as he can. (Gen is perfectly alright, but if you wanna ship, I do enjoy a good dose of Bilbo/Bofur)
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5946945&%20#t5946945 ]
> 
> A/N: Bofur plays the glad game, because he's always so happy, and because Pollyanna is one of my favourite things, always and forever. <3

No matter how bad things seem, his mother had used to say, if you only look you will find something to be glad for.

She had known the truth of it better than most, his mother. For their father had perished in a pit collapse, before Bofur had been old enough to form any clear memories, and she had always been a sickly lass, so much so that the majority of their father's kin had refused to give their blessing to the union.

Still she told them that she was glad, all the same, so very glad that she had been given the chance to know a love as brilliant as a diamond, and that she had been blessed with both Bofur and Bombur, for few dwarf women were ever so lucky.

Bofur tried to follow her example, because even when she was taken from them, far too young, he was glad that she had been his mother. And when Bombur clung to him and cried, because they had no food and no money, he was glad that he knew stories to tell, and songs to sing, so that he might put a smile on his brother's face again.

Most of all he was glad that they had each other, so that no matter where they were they had a friendly face to look upon, and somebody to look out for them.

Bifur took them in when the news reached him, and Bofur was glad a hundred times over, for the kindness their cousin showed, and for all the skills Bifur was happy to pass on.

"You're as fine a dwarf as ever I knew," Bifur told him before he left on campaign, dropping a hat on his head, and handing his brother an intricate puzzle, for he knew Bombur would appreciate it. "Your mother would be right proud of both of you."

Bifur came back changed beyond all recognition and, though it was hard, Bofur resolved to be glad that he had come back at all. They were a family and that was what was important, ever more so as Bombur began to add to their number.

Yet money was tight, desperately so, and they were both glad when none other than Thorin Oakenshield welcomed them into his Company, no matter how many dwarves he had asked before them.

"We shall come home rich as Lords," he told the dwarflings, all bluff and smiles, and pretended that he could not hear their mother weeping in the other room, for the truth was far crueler. They might never come home at all.

The journey was harder than he had expected, danger and darkness crowding all around them.

"I am still glad we came," he told Bombur, scarce hours before the beginning of their ill fated battle. "I have seen many new sights, and learnt many new things. And," his voice grew quiet, "and I have met a great many new friends."

Bombur smiled at him in return, for he knew him better than anyone, and said,

"Then I am glad too." His tone turned solemn, "Even if all this should have been for nought I will not regret it. I would do as much again, and more, to see you smile the way you have at our little burglar."

His own response caught in his throat, and Bofur hugged his brother close in thanks, for few dwarves would have been as accepting.

He held the memory dear when the cries of war sounded around them, and he gripped at his mattock with grim determination, though the situation supplied little enough to be glad of. It was brutal and it was bloody, the metallic scent of the latter heavy in the air, clouding his senses even as his head filled with the pitiful cries of the wounded and the dying.

Thorin was among them he was told, when the chance came, and the little heirs of Durin already lay lifeless. He searched for his own kin, dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and though he saw with his own eyes it still took long moments before he could make himself believe the sight he eventually met with.

Bombur had gone down fighting, his face twisted in a grimace, no sign of the peace the dead so deserved.

Bofur clung to him, his blood stained hand leaving prints on cool skin. Bifur crouched beside him, confused, and told Bombur sternly that it was time to wake up, or else he should not have time for any breakfast.

The rest was a blur.

Someone pulling him away from the corpse, and somebody else pressing a steaming bowl of soup into his hands and telling him to eat. Telling him that they hadn't fought in vain, and that Bombur would be remembered as a great hero.

None of it seemed quite real, and not even Bifur pulling him into a crushing hug, or the careful touch of Bilbo's hand against his own could chase away the numb emptiness.

His mother's words echoed in his head, clear as crystal though her image grew daily fainter.

He could find things to be glad for. Good things, genuine things, like riches, and family, and even companionship. They were there, he knew, but something within himself was changed, different.

Because, for the first time, try as he might, he could not feel glad for any of them. 　　

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	3. Glóin/Bombur. Kind of.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Bombur reminds Gloin a lot of his wife who's waiting for him back home, from the bright red hair to the rotund figure to the freckles. Even his sweet, quiet nature and the cooking reminds him of her... Gloin enjoys just standing next to him and watching him cook. He knows he'll never cheat on his wife and he also knows that Bombur is married as well. Nonetheless, the feelings are there and made even worse by his loneliness.  
> +100 Bombur is flattered by Gloin's attention and returns it by baking him extra delicious food.  
> +100 Gloin never acts on his feelings but he goes out of his way to be chivalrous to Bombur, helping him up when he falls, defending him from orcs etc.
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=6245441#t6245441 ]
> 
> A/N: Pretty cracky!

Glóin was struck by the resemblance from the very first, for Bombur shared not only his beloved's colouring, but sported similarly spectacular facial hair.

He would not have thought more on it, perhaps, but the road was long and treacherous, and he missed his wife so fiercely that there were times the separation seemed physically painful.

It was a comfort, then, to look upon the other dwarf, who in figure and manner so closely resembled the jewel he had pledged his life to.

Bombur was shy too, Glóin noted, but lit up around his kin, just like the light of his own heart. He listened patiently to Bifur's rambling tales, and pulled playfully at Bofur's braids when his brother teased, sending them both into gales of laughter.

He helped the little halfling in countless small ways - Glóin's own wife was as kind hearted as she was beautiful - and did not complain, even when Dwalin himself cursed his blisters and his empty stomach.

Glóin found that it soothed his constant longing, if only a little, to watch Bombur cook and whittle, and to offer a helping hand when he could, just as he would for his own sweetheart.

If at times his fingers itched to comb through that magnificent beard, and his entire being ached to press close, to ease the worst of his loneliness, then Glóin did not dwell on it. He was as devoted a husband as Bombur, and he would sooner lay slain by his own hand than betray the trust his wife had placed in him.

Bombur understood, he thought. It was there in the care he took over the bowls he handed to Glóin at mealtimes, and the smiles he gave him, when it was their turn to share chores of an evening.

Still he chuckled to himself when it was put beyond doubt, and he overheard Bombur say to his brother,

"I would not act on it, to be sure, but Glóin does so remind me of my dear dwarflings' mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	4. Dwalin/Ori. Courtship.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Courting. Does Dwalin court Ori? Or does he think the young dwarf isn't good enough for him, as it were? What does Nori and Dori do? Or maybe it's Ori who takes the initiative, finally showing just how well he does things when he sets his mind to it. All my love for all of eternity if Dwalin is just the sweetest and adores Ori.
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=6087489#t6087489 ]

Balin had long been fond of telling him that with age came wisdom.

Dwalin, though he listened to his elders and at least attempted to respect their opinions, took a long time to believe it.

He was a dwarf of action, a warrior, and he had little use for books, and words, and quiet reflection. Instead he relied on his weapons and his body, and grew as proficient at delivering death as he did at delivering pleasure.

It came as a shock, then, when he found himself thinking not of a quick fuck, or even a long night of passion, but of trust and truth and commitment.

Love, that was the word for it.

It was a greater shock still when these thoughts began to find an anchor, and Dwalin caught himself watching, and wishing.

"The reward is all the sweeter," Balin said to him that very night, too knowing, "when you know you have truly earned it."

Dwalin scowled in response, but could not put it from his mind completely. For where once he would simply have taken, he was strong enough to admit to himself that that was no longer what he wanted.

He wanted Ori in his bed, to be sure. But he also wanted Ori to smile at him, the same sweet smile he gave so freely to his brothers and to the halfling, and to talk to him of his hopes and his fears, and of all the things he was so devotedly recording in his journals.

But when Ori looked at him all Dwalin saw was curiosity tempered by fear and, despite his best efforts, Dwalin made little headway with changing that.

His clumsy attempt at a compliment earned him nothing but a dark glare from Dori, for it truly sounded like an insult, and when he offered to sharpen Ori's knife for him one night, because the lad was struggling to cut a point to his quill, Nori took offence, and said that there was no need, for he had been just about to do it.

It would be better, Dwalin thought then, if he gave up on the foolish idea in its entirety. Ori was a pretty thing, but he was young, desperately young, and like as not this was only destined to be a brief infatuation.

Dwalin hated to be proven wrong, but he was, and he did his best to ignore Balin's smile when his brother caught him checking Ori three times over after their escape from the accursed goblin caves, under the guise of hurrying him along in the right direction.

There was nothing else for it.

He was going to have to try his hand at courting.

As a dwarfling Balin had told him often that there was a first time for everything, and Dwalin knew it to be true as he spent a long night on watch carving the [serch bythol](http://i.imgur.com/pGFluOC.jpg) into the piece of wood he had chosen.

Love tokens were pointless, served no practical purpose, and yet it was the fear of rejection which made him hesitate before laying it beside Ori's pillow - He, who had never trembled at the sight of any challenger!

He felt strange as he watched Ori the following morning, near breathless with anticipation. The lad looked about him wide-eyed, as though he could not believe the disc had been meant for him, and Dwalin cursed himself for an old fool, even as he made sure Bombur ladled a generous portion into the lad's bowl for breakfast.

The carving was followed by a flower which Ori pressed carefully between the pages of his sketchbook, and a bead which, though simple, Ori fixed into his hair, so that it warmed Dwalin's heart, every time he looked at him.

Kíli and Fíli noticed too, and teased him fondly until Ori flushed and stuttered, telling them indignantly that he had _not_ made the bead himself, nor had Dori or Nori gifted it as a joke or a symbol of brotherly affection.

"I don't know who it's from," Ori said, cheeks burning though he held Dwalin's gaze when their eyes met, "but I've no doubt they are as fine and as handsome a suitor as any dwarf could wish for!"

Ori was visibly shaking when he was done, and Dwalin could not keep the smile from his lips, even when Balin laid a hand on his shoulder as he passed, a kindly way of telling him 'I told you so'.

He waited until the youngsters had found something else to occupy their interest, then moved to sit beside Ori, who hurriedly dropped his knitting. Ori coloured anew, glancing at him before returning his gaze to his hands.

"It wasn't a joke Master Dwalin, was it? Those gifts you left for me?"

Once Dwalin would have laughed, and taunted Ori for such timid insecurity. But Balin had been right; for him, at least, age had brought wisdom, and Dwalin's fingers were gentle as he took Ori's hand, a thrill passing through him, though the touch was entirely innocent.

"No, it was no joke," he said. "I see much to admire in you, perhaps more than you see yourself, and if you would have me -" He trailed off, awkward, unused as he was to making tender declarations.

Ori stared at him for a moment, shocked, and then he flung his arms about him, so that Dwalin found himself with a lap full of enthusiastic dwarf, which was nothing to complain about.

"I so hoped it was you," Ori told him, words tumbling over each other, "and then with the bead, I was sure, for I watched you ever so closely, but I did not dare believe you could think of me so - and, oh, Master Dwalin, I am so truly happy!"

Dori coughed, meaningfully, and Dwalin reluctantly let go, Ori scrambling to sit at his side, beaming.

Dori's gaze was doubtful, disapproving even. But instead of anger Dwalin felt only hope and contentment. He would prove the sincerity of his offer to Ori's brothers, just as he would to Ori himself. He was still a dwarf of action, a warrior, but he had learned patience, and that it sometimes paid to play the long game.

The prize was well worth waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	5. Bilbo/Bofur, Letters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sappy class angst fic for [St. Dwynwen's Day](http://www.babiafi.co.uk/2016/01/st-dwynwens-day.html)! :3

Pauper or King, the dangers of their journey had been a great leveler. They ate the same rations, and bathed in the same water. The road cared but little for social distinction, and Bofur had felt that he had begun to win their burglar's heart, and that perhaps he might be lucky enough to know the brilliance of a love which was reflected.

Here, however, in the hallowed halls of Erebor, Bofur saw too clearly that he had been mistaken. No number of gold coins or gemstones could make him anything other than what he was.

A lowly toymaker; and the son of a miner.

Bilbo said nothing on the subject, of course, for he was well bred, and considered to be of high status back in his own Shire. He had told Bofur more than once of the expectations others placed on him to marry well, and to fill his neat little home with hobbitlings, though it was not what he wanted.

But Bofur was not blind to the way Bilbo eyed the dirt his clothes collected each day with distaste, nor the way the hobbit frowned with every new arrival of dwarves to Erebor. His brow furrowed deeper with each group, jaw clenched as he watched them bow low to the remaining members of their Company, while for Bofur and his kin they offered only a nod of their heads, for the sake of courtesy.

Bofur wished at those times he was of high birth, so that Bilbo might have reason to think well of him. Afterwards he would flush with shame, for longing for status above his station, and for thinking of his upbringing, if only for a moment, with embarrassment.

His father had been an honest, hard working dwarf, and his mother had been as beautiful and as generous as any blue blooded heiress. It was not their fault that times had been hard, and it was not anyone's fault that there had been no opportunity for book learning, not once he grew strong enough to shoulder a pick and bring in some money.

It would have been better if he had told the truth from the first, he supposed. For Bilbo was helping Ori organise the once grand library, and each night brought books for him to look at, bright eyed and rosy cheeked with his enthusiasm. He should have said at the very start that the markings on the page meant nothing to him.

But he was stubborn, and proud, and could not bear the idea of Bilbo thinking even less of him than he already must do.

Now it had gone on too long for him to confess, and Bofur began to feel dread pooling in his stomach as the working day neared its end, for Bilbo was bound to catch on soon and think him a terrible fool. Bilbo would not laugh at him, perhaps, but he would surely wonder at why he had ever consented to Bofur's courting.

The thought alone was enough to make him maudlin and miserable, though he did as good a job at hiding it as he was able, playing merry tunes on his flute, and greeting everyone he met with a smile.

Bifur was the one to pull him aside, for he saw things which others missed, though Bombur followed instinctively. Bifur explained to Bombur in a tone made harsh with worry, his signing almost violent. Bombur's face was full of concern, and he said somberly,

"If he does not want you for what you are, then he is not worthy of you, or of our family."

"It is not like that," Bofur protested, not wanting to argue with his brother, but unable to stomach hearing Bilbo spoken ill of. "He is a kind soul - too kind. I would not have him bound to me through some misplaced sense of duty. Not when he could surely do so very much better."

The truth was between them now, and Bofur felt naked and vulnerable. His heart was set on Bilbo, fast and true, and should Bilbo decide he no longer wanted his attentions then he would never love another. Not that Bilbo knew it, which was just as it ought to be.

Bifur clutched at his arm, and Bombur pulled him into a hug, tight and close, just as they had comforted each other as children.

"You know him better than any of us, I am sure," Bombur said, softly. "Always remember that we are here for you."

Bofur played his brother's words around in his head often in the days which followed. It would not be so bad, perhaps, if he knew that Bilbo was happy, and that he would be well taken care of. He would return to the Blue Mountains a rich dwarf, and live out his days with his nieces and nephews, and Bombur and Bifur, and his sister-in-law.

Still his heart clenched, selfishly. He wanted to be the one to make Bilbo happy. The one Bilbo smiled at, and the one Bilbo laid himself bare to. He wanted to share every moment he could with Bilbo, and shower him with all the love and devotion the little hobbit had been denied, hitherto.

He left Bilbo whimsies and whatsits outside his room each morning, just to see the smile on his face, though it kept slipping, and Bofur caught him staring at him more than once, a sad, wistful expression on his face. To try and make it up he would give Bilbo space to smoke his pipe alone of an evening, his head and heart aching with the burden of the decision in front of him.

Finally he made up his mind to give Bilbo an easy out, should he want it, and because he had seen Bilbo talking animatedly with a young lordling from a mine far west, he forced himself to find other things to occupy his time so that Bilbo might have chance to know him better.

He worked into the early hours one night, then played cards with Nori the next. He drowned his sorrows with ale the third, spurred on by Nori until he was in such a state that it seemed a good idea to knock at Bilbo's door, though it was obscenely late by the hobbit's usual standards.

There was no reply, in which he later took some comfort, and he woke with to such marching in his head that he vowed never to drink again. Or at least not for some time.

He was surprised then when that afternoon saw Bilbo making his way over to him across the Great Hall, determined. He looked as lovely as the most brilliant gemstone, Bofur thought, but could not find the words to say so.

Bilbo dropped to sit beside him, then hesitated for a long moment, as though gathering his courage. Bofur could not help but think the worst, and his mouth went suddenly dry, icy fear spreading through him at the prospect of Bilbo thanking him for his attentions, but asking to be set free from this moment on.

"In the Shire," Bilbo began, and Bofur forced himself to listen, "today is Hearts Day. We give gifts to our sweethearts - or those we wish were our sweethearts - and, and we tell them why we love them."

Bilbo's cheeks were flushed now, and he sucked in a deep breath before reaching into his pocket and presenting Bofur with an envelope.

"I wrote you this," Bilbo said, and when Bofur did not immediately open the letter began to babble. "You don't have to read it, not if you don't want to. But I mean what I wrote there, every word, even - even if you do not feel the same way about me."

Bofur was struck dumb for long moments. He could scarcely process what Bilbo had told him, after spending so long convincing himself that he only saw in Bilbo's reactions what he wanted to, let alone formulate a response to them. And then Bilbo was looking away, crestfallen, and making to leave. Bofur reached for his hand, panicked, and blurted,

"I can't read."

It seemed so easy to say now that the words had been spoken that he said them again,

"I can't read, nor write. Not even my own name. I was too proud and too stubborn to admit it to you, for I am an old fool of a dwarf." He drew in a breath, and forced himself to hold Bilbo's gaze as he asked, "Will you read this to me?"

It was Bilbo's turn to be shocked, but he nodded and whispered "not here" before leading the way from the hall, and down a long corridor, stopping at the door of the little room he had been given as his own until he chose to return to the Shire.

Bilbo ushered him inside and busied himself with lighting candles and setting the fire. When he could stall no longer he bid Bofur to sit beside him on the bed, close to the lantern, and unfolded the letter, spreading it out in front of them.

The intimacy of the moment was not lost on Bofur. This was the first time he had been so alone with the hobbit, and the warmth of him at his side, along with the scent of him which filled the air, made his heart pound. Bilbo cleared his throat, and pressed a finger against his flowing script, so that Bofur might follow it.

" _My dearest Bofur,_ " Bilbo began, voice clear though his cheeks flamed,

" _I love you. That is not at all an original way to start a Hearts Day letter, I am sure, but it is true and I have little enough experience of writing them, besides._

_I love you for your smile and for your optimism. For your songs and your riddles, and for your kind words and gentle spirit. I love you for seeing worth in me that I could not see in myself, and for giving me hope, even when everything seemed entirely hopeless._

_I know not why your smiles have been shadowed of late, but I would do anything within my power to brighten them. As the dwarves say,_

_I love you completely, forever and always._ "

The last was written in an angular script Bofur recognised from familiarity as Dwarvish runes. It was a long moment before he trusted himself to be able to speak, his throat choked and his eyes stinging with feeling. Finally, he shifted so he might touch his fingertips to Bilbo's cheek, heartened when Bilbo turned to look at him.

"That was lovely," Bofur said, meaning it truly. "The loveliest thing anyone's ever done for me, and to be sure I don't deserve it. I have done you a great disservice. I questioned your ability to know your own heart - and I am sorry for it."

Bilbo kissed him, with as much spirit as any dwarf, and when he pulled away it was to say,

"It matters not to me whether you wear a blue hood or a traveller's rags, or which skills you do and do not possess. I only want you to be honest with me, and -" Bilbo smiled at him, bashful " - and not to always choose Nori's company over mine, for I was getting sore jealous."

Bofur laughed, surprised, and took one of Bilbo's slighter hands in his own.

"I promise," he said, and repeating Bilbo's earlier words told him, solemnly,

" _I love you completely, forever and always._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	6. Bilbo/Bofur, jealousy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Anything, dearest Nonnies, as long as Bilbo tops. No heavy angst, please. Sweet PWPs encouraged.
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=2067910#t2067910 ]

Bilbo had fallen in love with Bofur's cheery smile and easygoing nature. It ought not to have been a surprise to him to see that others were similarly captivated.

But it had made his jaw clench to see the heated glances and the flirtatious smiles in Erebor, from dwarves who had come to seek their fortune, for all Bofur told him that he must have been imagining things.

On the road home he had witnessed hardened daughters of men reduced to flustered girlish giggling, and once, even, a man had sat himself beside Bofur, and (loudly) whispered what he would do to him in such lewd terms that it still made Bilbo blush to think of it, months later.

Bofur had laughed, thinking it all some great joke, and Gandalf had merely puffed at his pipe serenely, sparing Bilbo a kindly smile that only further infuriated him.

Later, he had worried dark bruises against the skin of Bofur's neck, wild with want for him as Bofur gasped and groaned, and pressed up to meet him. In the light of morning, Bofur's collar failing to cover all of the evidence, Bilbo had felt so ashamed that he pledged to himself never again to give into such darkness.

He had supposed, now that they were back home in the Shire, that the awful possessiveness he had felt while journeying would melt away into contentment. But Bofur had charmed the inhabitants of Hobbiton as surely as he had charmed Bilbo himself.

Lasses giggled and whispered when he passed, flushing full in the face at a 'hello' or a smile, and mothers and gammers invited themselves to tea near every day of the week, telling Bofur things like,

"My lass is the bonniest, sunniest hobbit you ever did see," and,

"You really ought to come to ours for tea, Master Bofur. Mister Baggins here is a fine fellow, but he has not a woman's touch in the kitchen. Have you seen his choux pastry?"

The last was said in a badly disguised undertone and Bilbo set his teacup down with an unnecessary clatter. It really was too much, to be insulted such in his own smial!

Bofur just smiled, all dimples, and said,

"Thank you for your kind offer but I must say a word in defence of my friend's cooking, for I have not tasted finer fair anywhere else in the whole of Middle Earth!"

Mother Brownlock paled at this mention of adventuring, and Mansi Twofoot too seemed to form second thoughts about any imminent nuptials between her daughter and the dwarf seated in front of her.

Bofur stepped in close once the door was closed behind them, calloused fingers caressing his cheek gently.

"Tell me what's wrong," he said softly. "Before you do yourself an injury."

Bilbo looked away, suddenly all too aware of the tension in his frame, and the way he had balled his fingers into fists. He did not know how to say it, for it was a terrible character fault to be so desperately jealous.

Yet he felt it for the magic ring he so often kept about his person, and he felt it for Bofur, for all that he professed to love him. They could not make the truth of their relationship known, not without scandalising the Shire, and still he wanted to have it made clear to all that Bofur was _his_ , and his alone.

He looked up at Bofur, at the furrow of concern in his brow, and the lips he never tired of kissing, and Bilbo could take it no longer.

"I'm jealous," he admitted finally, miserably. "I'm jealous of everyone you speak with, and everyone you smile at. I know I oughtn't to be, and still I can't help myself!"

To his surprise Bofur did not pull away from him, or look at him with any trace of revulsion. Instead he smiled, as brightly as he ever hand, then kissed his cheek and said,

"And it cheers my heart to know it."

"I don't - " Bilbo started, because the reaction was not one he had ever imagined, and was not at all in line with anything he had ever been taught about love, nor about friendship.

"Dwarves love fiercely," Bofur explained, seeing his confusion. "We love but once, and the flame burns brightly. I would not hide you away, no more than you would me. But," he paused, gaze growing dark even as his cheeks coloured, "to hear you say that you want to, sometimes, well." Bofur blushed still redder and his voice dropped to a whisper, "I would hear you say so more often."

Bilbo kissed him then, forgetting about the dirty dishes and the transcribing he had been intending on finishing. Instead he took Bofur to their bedchamber, heat spreading through him, engulfing, and loosened Bofur's braids so that his hair lay all about him.

He would have held back still, would not have pushed his luck. But Bofur twined his fingers in his curls when he dropped his head to kiss at Bofur's neck, and kept them there so that Bilbo felt sure enough to suck and nip, encouraged by the way Bofur writhed beneath him.

"It will mark," Bilbo panted, when he raised his head to meet Bofur's gaze, and shivered all over when Bofur only nodded, frantic, and said,

"I hope so."

Emboldened, Bilbo teased and tormented, though it wasn't his usual habit, until Bofur was all but begging him, and he could not contain himself any longer.

Bofur held him close afterwards, and said,

"You know you've no need to be jealous, don't you? I'm not interested in any other."

Bilbo nodded, because that was the problem, and Bofur just smiled and kissed at the tip of his ear before telling him, happily,

"Then may you want me so always."

So he loved a dwarf, in a dwarfish fashion.

Bilbo decided he could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	7. Bilbo/Bofur, sap.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: Bilbo gets very tired on the journey. Too much walking. The poor guy isnt used to it. So keeps using Bofur as a crutch. Being quite pathetic and moaning into his crutch's neck. Not that Bofur minds at all. Not one bit in fact. Can lead to sex/relationship/sleepy kissing. Just the crutch, the holding onto each other, supporting each others weight no matter the extra effort on Bofur's part.
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7426371#t7426371 ]

Hobbits, Bofur thought, were right strange little creatures.

Bilbo could talk for hours on the importance of cutlery and pocket handkerchiefs, but he had set out woefully unprepared for their journey, all lumpy bedroll and short trousers.

He was unused to travel too, Bofur could tell. He was pale and wan with exhaustion every night by the time they made camp, and he fussed too much about buttons and cleanliness, so that Thorin's jaw twitched with the test of his patience.

The dark shadows under his eyes were proof that Bilbo wasn't sleeping well enough and, when one night Bilbo sat shivering - even next to the fire - looking utterly miserable, Bofur could bear it no longer, knowing well that it was up to him to do something.

It was so very obvious, he knew, and he could feel the curious glances upon him, even as he dug his own blanket from his pack and wrapped it around Bilbo's shoulders. But Bilbo smiled at him, grateful, and Bofur felt his heart flutter in his chest, deciding for him that he did not care if the others teased him all the way to Erebor.

And tease him they did, for he took to walking beside Bilbo, so that they might talk more easily, and in return Bilbo sought him out in their free moments, so that Bofur fell totally and completely.

The weather grew ever more miserable, and Bilbo found the going an increasing struggle, losing his balance in the slick mud, and needing a helping hand more and more often.

Not that Bofur minded.

In fact, Bofur encouraged Bilbo to press close when the terrain grew difficult. Wrapped his arm about Bilbo's waist, and carried some of his weight, because Bofur wanted to be near him, and because he was quickly certain that, for Bilbo, he would do absolutely anything.

Bilbo clung to him in return and, when they had chance to pause for a moment, lay his head against Bofur's chest, so that Bofur wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through Bilbo's hair, and promise him that it wouldn't be much farther now, not really.

It was Bilbo who kissed him in thanks, chaste and bashful, and though he was wet and cold, with only watery gruel to satisfy his hunger, in that moment Bofur felt like a King.

In his eyes, Bilbo was a greater prize than all the gold in Erebor.

Still the quest went on, and Bofur relished the right to help Bilbo more, even as he worried constantly about him.

"My legs ache so," Bilbo confessed to him as all but Thorin retired to their bedrolls, his lips tinged blue and his teeth chattering. Bofur held him close that night, though it wasn't at all proper, and it was worth all the gossip and the disapproval to see Bilbo smile at him in the morning.

Their rations were growing desperately low now, and Thorin was pushing them to the very edge of endurance, for moving quickly was their only hope of survival. Bilbo was struggling desperately to keep up, fighting against the wind and sleet, in addition to being so much shorter and slighter.

Bofur fell back to help him, his steadying hand moving from arm to shoulder, and then to wrap around Bilbo's middle. They couldn't stop, it wasn't an option, but even with the rain Bofur could see that Bilbo was in tears.

He took Bilbo's pack from him then, for he was made of stout stuff, and made Bilbo lean against him as he walked, guilt at hurting him warring with the need to keep Bilbo moving. To get him to safety.

The light began to fail, and Bilbo was whimpering with near every step, in spite of his best attempts to stifle it. Bofur could see no other option, though his own muscles ached, and he couldn't feel his toes nor the tips of his fingers.

Bilbo gasped, surprised, but wrapped his arms about Bofur's neck instinctively as Bofur hauled him up into his grasp, surprised himself at just how little Bilbo weighed. He had not been so light at the beginning of their journey. 

The others gaped openly when he had made up the distance, Thorin having finally given the signal for them to stop and to rest. Bofur held his head high and set Bilbo down carefully. Unpacked bedrolls and blankets and lay Bilbo amongst them, touching fingers to his cheek, tenderly, simply watching him sleep for a moment.

"You have truly fixed your heart upon him then," Thorin said, as unreadable as ever, and Bofur nodded with a courage he didn't quite feel. Thorin could forbid it, if he wished it. But Thorin said no more, and his tacit acceptance meant there would be no objections from the others, though they all seemed fond enough already of their little burglar.

The night was bitterly cold, but Bofur felt warmed from the inside, and couldn't keep from smiling when he curled himself around Bilbo though his shoulders and back ached ceaselessly. There would be more hardships to come, there was no question.

But Bilbo could lean on him.

He would be strong enough for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	8. Dwalin/Ori, angst.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: There are so many (wonderful) Dwalin fics out there where he's the strong, dominant type. I want a Dwalin who's hurt (physically or emotionally) and not used to getting what he wants. Any pairing, rating, whatever. Seriously, make it Dwalin/Gandalf if you want, idc.
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=8067907#t8067907 ]
> 
> A/N: Set up to just before they find the enchanted river in Mirkwood.

Ori should not have been allowed to accompany them.

He had said so to Dori, though the lad's face had crumpled, and he had said so to Thorin, though Thorin was his King and it was not his place to question his judgement.

"It is already done," Thorin responded coolly, effectively closing the matter.

Dwalin bowed his head. He had expected nothing different.

Still he watched the lad closely, hauled him back from the cliff edge when he would have fallen, and handed the boy his journal back when Kili held it high above his head, his glare putting an end to any further tomfoolery.

Ori watched him in return, brow furrowed in some emotion Dwalin couldn't quite identify. It made his skin itch, to have that gaze upon him, and when Dori told his brother he ought to be abed, Dwalin was glad of it.

The damage, it seemed, had already been done.

Ori's eyes sought him out ever more often, so that their gazes met over the evening campfire, and so that Dwalin could not help but think of things he had long ago given up on.

He was a warrior. He had pledged himself to the cause of Erebor. There was nothing else for him.

Balin saw too much, always had, and laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder one night when he had been lost in hopeless thought, eyes full of the sight of Ori meticulously recording the day's events in his journal.

"The world is a cruel place," Dwalin said, answering his brother's unspoken question. "I would have spared him the reality."

Too often had he been a forced witness to lost innocence. He thought of brave lads and lasses he had been powerless to save, and adult dwarves and men alike who had wept as babes wishing for the end to come upon them.

He did not sleep that night.

Their quest grew ever more futile. The truth was there in Thorin's guilt clouded eyes, and in the grave set to his own brother's jaw. He said nothing to the others, for it was not his place, and it was Ori who blocked his path when they had been sent to gather firewood.

"I am no child," he said, though his voice wavered. "I knew the dangers involved, and I do not regret coming."

Dwalin would have spoken, would have attempted to make the boy see reason. But Ori reached up to kiss him, chaste, and Dwalin scarcely dared breathe, for fear of shattering the illusion.

It was no fevered dream, and Ori smiled bashfully at him, standing his ground.

His arguments fell on deaf ears though he _had_ seen too many seasons, and Ori's family _would_ never approve. Ori only touched tentative fingers to his cheek - tenderness Dwalin had never before known - and asked, quietly,

"Those are my considerations. Could you ever feel anything for me?"

The question was plain, earnest, and though it would make things easier, Dwalin could not in conscience give an answer that was anything less.

Ori beamed at him, so happy it made his own chest ache, and the lad replaced his watching with sitting beside him. Soft touches and sweet words that made Ori's cheeks flush to give, and his own to receive.

Dori did not forbid it, though he tried to talk sense into his brother, and shook his head sadly when Ori would not be persuaded. Nori spoke with him instead, his hardened mask slipping because they both understood why the situation was being tolerated.

"It is better this," Nori said, "than watch him facing the end lovesick."

Morale was all but dead now, and Dwalin nodded, words failing him. He kissed Ori's brow when he came to him, and pretended that he had hope they would make it out alive. That Ori's journals would have chance to play the role intended for them, and he would have more than a few snatched days of happiness.

"If I hadn't come, we might never have known each other so," Ori said the night they ran out of water, and Dwalin did not say that Ori would have found some other, or that it must have been but little comfort for the younger dwarf.

Instead he held Ori tight and replayed the very same thought he had had back in the burglar's kitchen.

Ori should not have been allowed to accompany them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	9. Bilbo/Bofur, armless Bofur.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: There is an artist on dA that has been drawing an armless Bofur ( http://fav.me/d5s53py ) and I have to admit I really love the idea. I'd like to see an author's take on how this happened and the aftermath. Set after The Hobbit. It could be the result of The Battle of the Five Armies, or it can be a mining accident, or anything really. I'd like for this to be either established Bilbo/Bofur or maybe this event leads up to.
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=6916675#t6916675 ]

His father had maintained that mining was a noble occupation. He held his head high when he left each morning, and never let on his exhaustion when he returned in the evenings.

His mother had kissed his cheek the morning before his first day of work, and told him that his father would have been proud of him.

Bofur tried to keep the words in mind, though it was hard, because he could find little noble about the way the coal dust sunk into the very pores of his skin, and filled his lungs so that he coughed at night, over and over. When he was freed, finally, from his very first pit collapse it was to find his mother gone, and himself and Bombur orphans.

"Your brother will be joining us now," his elders said, certain, and still Bofur resisted for as long as he could manage, teaching himself to carve more finely so that he might put enough food on the table.

There was no choice, eventually, and Bofur smiled too cheerily at both Bombur and the other new lad, remembering too well the mask his father had worn when he had used to see them abed.

It was their young faces he saw when the roof began falling, though it had been decades ago, and the other lad lay long dead, drowned by the water that flooded through the new eastern tunnel, all before he had taken home his first week's pay.

Everything seemed at once hopelessly blurred and perfectly clear. The pain as the great rocks pinned him in place, and the cries of his comrades, though he could not see any of them. They faded, slowly, once the crashing stopped, and Bofur tried not to think about the passage of time, and instead thought of Bilbo and the life they might make together, just as he had when it had seemed certain they would lose the battle for Erebor.

Bilbo had told him he loved him for his jolly outlook, and his perpetual smile, and Bifur had told him many moons ago, when he had still been whole and Bofur had known far less of the world, that he had been the lucky one. That it was up to him to live for all the miners who had never made it back to the halls.

And he was lucky, so very lucky. Because Bilbo had accepted his suit, though he had nothing but his hands and his devotion to offer him.

Perhaps he was talking to himself, perhaps he looked very bad. All he knew was that the rescue party were chalk white in the face when they pulled him free, and Dwalin himself brushed the hair and grit back from his forehead, saying,

"Easy now. It'll be alright, lad."

He remembered in flashes after that. The glint of an axe, and the look of terror on Bilbo's dirt streaked face when Balin pressed a leather strap between his teeth. They wouldn't really do it, he remembered thinking; it was murder to amputate a workman's hand. How would he ever make a living.

Then there was pain, pain like he'd never know, and then - Then merciful nothingness.

When he came to, fully rather than the strange half awareness, the realisation was not immediate. It was as though he could truly feel the ache in the whole of his arm, right down to his fingers, but when he looked bile rose in his throat. There was nothing but blanket where once his hand would have lain.

"You're awake," Bilbo whispered, voice raw, from the chair beside the bed, dark circles shadowing his eyes. "I was so afraid."

Bofur turned his head away.

He could not bear for Bilbo to see him crying.

Balin came to poke and prod at him, and pronounced that he was healing nicely. His cracked ribs knitted together, and the bruising faded. The cuts healed, and his vision stopped swimming when he sat for more than an hour at a time.

Each day Bilbo came to sit with him, and each day Bofur grew ever more decided. He had to bite his lip when Bilbo cut his dinner into pieces for him, to make it easier, and the back of his neck burned when he came upon him attempting to blow a simple tune upon his whistle. He sometimes grew angry when Bilbo offered help with things he was capable of, and then he could only beg forgiveness, for Bilbo could not hide how the harsh words had wounded him.

If he did not make the decision himself, he thought some days, then Bilbo would make it for him.

"You are improving daily," Bilbo said one day when Bofur was sitting up against his pillows. Bilbo would have kissed him too, had he not moved away. Bofur spoke to cover the awkwardness and, the next day, Bilbo only pressed his hand when it was time to leave him again.

Part of him wished that Bilbo would stay, and crawl onto the bed beside him. He had done it before, until Balin scolded him soundly, but now his ribs no longer troubled him and he sore missed the feel of having Bilbo close to him.

The other, more pragmatic part, was glad that Bilbo had not suggested such a thing. How much harder it would be to give Bilbo up, once he had again become accustomed to his scent and his warmth, and to his tenderness.

It was for this reason also that Bombur saw to the cleaning and the dressing of what was left of his arm each day, no matter how earnestly Bilbo asked to be permitted.

"He wants to help you," Bombur said, tone soft. "I won't always be nearby, not when you return to his Shire."

Bofur wrenched away from his brother's touch, because to hear it spoken hurt more than he had expected.

"You cannot think," he managed, his throat feeling tight and swollen, "that I will now be going anywhere."

Bombur had questions, wanted to know what, if anything, Bilbo had said on the matter. Bofur could not answer, and only buried his face in his pillow.

It came time that he could no longer put it off. He was well enough to be up and about, and he was tired of the well meaning pity of his visitors. He could not braid his hair, so was forced to settle with letting it hang loose, about his shoulders, and it took him a painfully long time to dress, angry tears filling his eyes when he failed for the third time to buckle his belt singlehandedly.

He had no sooner thrown it across the room than Bilbo was opening the door, and crossing over to him. The hobbit looked tired and worried, yet still lovelier than Bofur had words for. He felt fair faint with the wave of emotion that washed over him, at the knowledge of what he had to do.

Bilbo would tell him that nothing had changed, of course he would, for Bilbo was a kind, gentle creature. But things were changed, and he would not have Bilbo bind himself to a dwarf without a trade. It was embarrassing enough to be seen so unadorned, like a child.

"I like your hair like that," Bilbo said, trying for cheer. Bofur smiled himself, or at least attempted to, and it must have looked all wrong because Bilbo suddenly sobbed, and crushed himself against him.

Bofur's heart ached, worse than his ruined arm, and he used his good hand to draw Bilbo with him to sit on the bed, and to stroke at Bilbo's back, uncaring of his tunic.

When Bilbo pulled back his face was red and blotchy, and his breathing still uneven. "Bombur -" he had to pause, breath hitching, "Bombur told me you thought I no longer cared for you, but it is not true. You must never ever think so for I love you dearly, so dearly I can hardly stand it!"

"That was not my meaning," Bofur said quickly in protest, for Bilbo's distress was great, and it hurt deeply to witness it. Bilbo was looking up at him, expression torn between hope and resignation, and all the carefully worded speeches he had planned deserted him.

"I cannot be the partner to you I would have been," he said instead, unable to meet Bilbo's too bright gaze. "You would have to care for me, always, and though I would smile, and you would smile, you would grow to resent it."

Bilbo shook his head. Pulled from his hold and stood to pace the floor, back and fore and back again, before he dropped once more to the bed and took Bofur's hand between his own.

"Do you resent caring for Bifur?" Bilbo asked, gaze falling on the half whittled creature his cousin had been working on. It had become Bifur's custom to sit and watch him as he ate his breakfast in the mornings. Bofur shook his head, wordless, though it was hardly the same. Bifur and he had not planned to have a handfastening ceremony.

Bilbo pressed further. "If it was I sat in your place, far less capable of caring for myself for I am sure I should not have managed half the things you have undertaken already, would - " he faltered, " would you resent looking after me?"

"No," Bofur assured, though he understood the implication. "Never."

Bilbo nodded. Held his head high though tears continued to fall, unbidden. "I might not be a dwarf," he said proudly, "but my regard is no less true or steadfast for it. I do not expect the going to be without hardship, for you or for either of us, but I want to help you. I love you and," his jaw tightened in determination, "I will _not_ be parted from you."

Bofur swallowed thickly, scarce knew what to with himself. And then he saw the way Bilbo was watching him fearfully, awaiting his response, and he could only lean forward to capture his mouth in a kiss, groaning when Bilbo tangled his fingers in his hair, kissing him back with enthusiasm.

He joined the others for dinner that night, Bilbo having braided his hair and fastened his belt, and turned up the useless sleeve of his tunic so that it would not hinder him. It was not easy, for he still forgot at times, and he could not wrap an arm around Bilbo's shoulders as he ate, as he had used to.

Still he was glad he had done it, and he was gladder still when afterwards Bilbo followed him to his room, and clambered under the blankets beside him.

"I was afraid I would not be welcome," Bilbo whispered, as an explanation for his previous absence. Bofur pressed closer, tone solemn as he said,

"I want nothing more than to be with you. Always."

Bilbo smiled and touched tentative fingers to the stump of his arm, for the first time, allowing Bofur time to become accustomed to the sensation.

"I have almost lost you too many times," he said, and his smile turned just a little mischievous as he finished, "and now I have you, there will be no getting rid of me. Not ever."

Bofur gave a smile of his own.

That arrangement suited him perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	10. Bofur, Bifur, angsty gen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a prompt on the meme titled something like 'Bifur hits Bofur'. This doesn't fill the actual prompt, but it's what the title inspired. TW: abuse.

"Don't be afraid," Bofur tells Bilbo when the hobbit backs away from his cousin. "He won't hurt you."

It sounds incredibly patronising, he thinks, like Bifur is some injured wild animal to be gently petted, and when Bilbo only nods shakily he puffs at his pipe and stares into the flames of the campfire.

He thinks of cold nights long ago, when their mother had not been dead a twelve month, and Bombur had come to him crying. He had been helpless then, useless, and he fancies he can still feel the biting sting of bruised skin, because he never could manage to keep his mouth shut.

Bifur comes to sit beside him, wanting his attention as badly as any one of Bombur's little dwarflings, and for a moment Bofur is overwhelmed by the reversal in their situations. Bifur is the child now, lost and lonely, and it would be his words which meant nothing, if anyone should think to ask about his shadowed eyes and empty stomach in the first place.

The thought is gone almost as soon as it's come, though still it leaves him feeling sick and filthy. Bilbo hands him a bowl, half full for food is growing scarcer, and Bofur tips it into Bifur's, gut twisting at the way his cousin smiles up at him.

There is no time for holding grudges, Bofur knows, just as surely as there is no hope of an apology. All of that is in the past now.

Bifur will never again be the dwarf he once had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	11. Dwalin/Ori, crying.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: The company gets captured by Thranduil and randomly put in different cells, most of the Dwarves separated from their siblings. Ori ends up in a cell with Dwalin, and everything seems hopeless, and Ori wants his brothers, and he starts crying. Now Dwalin has to do something that is very much out of his comfort zone: soothe and console the crying Dwarf. Even back when he was in charge of little Fíli and Kíli he couldn't handle the crying that inevitably came with childcare. So he awkwardly pats Ori's shoulder and says things like, "It's alright, the Elves won't kill us. At the worst, they'll torture us to get answers." Bonus Points: Dwalin is so frustrated that he can't stop Ori's sobs and tears that he starts crying himself.
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9861653#t9861653 ]

It was no use, Dwalin knew, but still he pulled at the bars once again, as if force of will alone could succeed in removing them. His muscles strained, and his pulse pounded at his temple, his full weight and strength behind the action.

The bars remained immovable.

Behind him Ori pulled his knees up to his chest, face almost hidden, but Dwalin could hear the shift in his breathing. The unmistakable hitch of tears.

It was nothing to be ashamed of.

He had seen dwarves twice Ori's age - and thrice his size - give into tears when the situation seemed entirely hopeless, but he hadn't the words to explain so. Didn't know how to comfort the lad, though Balin would likely have already had him smiling.

Instead he moved to sit beside Ori, chest clenching with some emotion Dwalin wasn't sure he even wanted to identify. Ori swiped at his face, though it made little enough difference, and said,

"I'm sorry. I just - My brothers. What if they're hurting them?"

If the elves had wanted to kill them, they would have done so already, and after a moment Dwalin put an awkward hand on Ori's shoulder, saying,

"You've no need to worry. Your brothers are strong, healthy. At worst the elves will only torture them."

Ori sobbed at that, helpless, and Dwalin cursed himself for a fool even as his heart clenched in his chest, so painfully that he could no longer deny to himself how sorely he wished that his presence alone was a comfort to the lad. How desperately he wished that he could be Ori's protector, in law as well as in practice.

All he could do in their dank little cell was pull Ori closer, and let the lad cry against his chest even as his own eyes stung. This was proof, irrefutable, that he had no right to wish.

The lad deserved much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	12. Bilbo/Bofur: Generosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the prompt: "Bilbo/Bofur - Bofur is embarassingly generous. So eventually, from promo pictures we know Bofur gives Bilbo his gloves. Bofur's always looking out for Bilbo. Bilbo soon thinks it's because Bofur thinks the hobbit isn't able to keep up. But of course it's just Bofur's way of courting him."
> 
> [ http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=20195597#t20195597 ]

“I will be quite comfortable on the floor.”

It wasn’t true - could never be true - but Bilbo did his best to sound convincing. He had made his decision, and nothing Bofur said would convince him to depart from it.

“It would be my pleasure to take the floor,” Bofur insisted. “Being indoors is more than enough comfort for a traveller, like myself.”

Though Bofur said it with a smile the words stung all the same. Throughout their entire journey Bofur had thought him too soft, too weak, to deal with the hardships they faced. The handkerchief he had thrown him on the outskirts of the Shire had been only the beginning, and in the weeks which followed Bofur had done everything from shoulder the heavier items from his pack to ladle generous portions of his own repast into Bilbo’s bowl, whenever he thought the hobbit wasn’t looking.

“I really must insist,” Bilbo said in response, standing firm. “You deserve it.”

Because it wasn’t that he was ungrateful for Bofur’s attentions, far from it. There was nothing he liked better than to spend time with the cheerful dwarf, to listen to his stories and to think, proudly, that it was he - at least in some small way - who was responsible for the smile on Bofur’s handsome face. It was that Bofur thought him something frail and delicate, a child in need of reassurance and protection. He blushed to remember the way Bofur had affected to be too tired to go on, when it was really Bilbo who struggled, and the quizzical look on the other dwarves’ faces when Bofur sacrificed a blanket from his bedroll.

He was an adult who knew his own mind.

He wanted Bofur to understand that.

“It is you who deserves some reminder of home,” Bofur said instead. “I know how hard the road has been on you.”

It was too much. The sincerity in Bofur’s tone, and the kindly look in his eyes where Bilbo would have heat and intensity.

“I don’t need to be cosseted. I don’t need your help!”

The words hung heavy in the air around them, delivered as they were with more volume and more fervour than Bilbo had intended.

Bilbo wished he could take them back. Wished he could erase the hurt look on Bofur’s face. Of all things, hurting Bofur was the last he would ever want. Bofur who had been nothing but unfailingly generous and friendly towards him. Bofur who was so good, and so kind, and who couldn’t help not seeing Bilbo in the way he so desperately wished for Bofur to see him.

“I can bunk with Bombur and Bifur,” Bofur said eventually, too calm and too quiet. “They’ll pay no mind to it.”

He would have left too, would have happily spent a cramped and uncomfortable night for no other reason than the belief it was what Bilbo wanted.

“I don’t need your help,” Bilbo repeated, even as his hand reached out of its own accord, touching Bofur’s arm in a silent plea for the dwarf to stay. Bilbo swallowed, called on all his earlier determination, “But that doesn’t mean I do not want it.”

Bofur looked at him, startled, and Bilbo hoped the dwarf could read his meaning in his face. Hoped that the understanding would not cause the dwarf to recoil from him. He did not think he could bear such a thing.

“I never meant to insult you,” Bofur said, finally, and they were so close Bilbo could feel the dwarf’s body heat. Could smell the now familiar earthen scent, and hear the rhythmic breathing. “I just would not see you uncomfortable, not when it is in my power to prevent it.”

Bilbo’s own pulse raced, the confession giving him the daring to press still closer. To touch his fingers to Bofur’s hand, the thrill of it enough to spur him to make the suggestion,

“In that case I have an idea - we could share the bed.”

Bofur’s smile was all the answer he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


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